


Metro Wonderland

by Cerusee



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce is a patient dad, Gen, Jason Todd is a Good Son, Jason is baby, a dad and son two-hander, this is a fairly accurate experience of the DC Metro at a lot of points in time including mine, twelve years old max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerusee/pseuds/Cerusee
Summary: Jason and Bruce try and fail to go on a short, day-long vacation in Washington D.C. Jason is heroic, and Bruce is very dadly.(that's it, that's the story)
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 39
Kudos: 283





	Metro Wonderland

“I’m not sure what to _do_ ,” Jason said, fidgeting next to him.

“I thought you had a whole list,” Bruce said, absently, skimming his way through a contract.

“I do! But I’m not sure what to do _first_.”

“We’re only going to be in D.C. for the afternoon,” Bruce reminded him. “I told you you’d need to pick one.”

“ _Two_. You said I could have _two_. You _promised!_ ” Jason’s voice rose with an anxious whine.

Had he? Bruce tried to remember the conversation when they’d settled on exact details for this trip, and found, to his guilty regret, that he couldn’t recall it. 

“Two,” Bruce conceded, since Jason was probably right. “But you need to have a plan before we get there, Jay. I have a meeting right after lunch, and then we’ll only have two hours before we head home. Dinner is non-negotiable; we talked about this.”

Jason crossed his arms and sank back in his seat, stretching out his torso and sullenly kicking his foot under the seat in front of him. Bruce leaned to the side and discreetly checked that the seat in front of Jason was empty. Thankfully, it was.

“Hey,” Jason said, suddenly. “Why are we taking the WayneTrain, anyway? Couldn’t we take the jet or something? Or just, y’know, have driven the _car?_ ” Jason put his hands up near his eyes and scrunched them, as if he was bent over and clutching a steering wheel, and he hummed, in a poor imitation of the supercharged, state-of-the-art engine of the personal war-mobile better known as the _Batmobile_.

“I hold significant stock in MidTrax—which is what it is actually called, Jason—” Bruce said, sifting through paper documents that still needed paper signatures. “It’s good optics for me to ride it from time to time.”

He was distracted enough that he didn’t initially notice when Jason stopped talking. It was only after a brief jolt on the track that he registered that Jason hadn’t said anything in a while, and looked up guiltily, suddenly worried that Jason’s quiet was the quiet that came when he was unhappy.

The worry was for nothing. Jason was leaning against the window, staring avidly out into the countryside, with one hand splayed on the glass. “There are _so many cows_ out there,” he said. “I thought cows were just black and white, but I think there were some red ones there. Bruce, did you know they had red cows? Is that normal? Those aren’t genetically engineered cows or anything, are they?”

Bruce smiled. “They’re not, son,” he said, rolling his shoulder against Jason’s, and feeling Jason lean back. “Believe it or not, cows come in red.”

“Go figure,” Jason said. “How about maroon, can we get ‘em in maroon?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Navy blue?

“No.”

“Gray and yellow. Bruce, what about gray and yellow cows?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

***

They disembarked at Union Station.

“Can I have a hot dog?” Jason asked, casting a covetous eye over the food court, as they slowly descended, via escalator, from Union Station’s ground level to its subterranean Metro connection.

“It’s 10am, Jay, and we have lunch reservations at noon.” Bruce looked down at Jason with raised eyebrows. “Just how hungry _are_ you?”

“I could eat an entire horse,” Jason said immediately. 

“Not a cow?” Bruce said. But growing boys had the appetites of growing boys. He contemplated their options, while he drew them just out of the way of the people moving to and fro the exits and destinations on every side around them. “Tell you what, Jay. You and I can split a ten-piece order of chicken nuggets on our way down. Alfred doesn’t need to know.”

“That sounds better than a horse,” Jason said, instantly, and then, looking up slyly at him, “but you’d better make it sixty-forty or I’ll tell Alfie that you sneaked me junk food.”

Bruce snorted, and ruffled Jason’s curls. “You drive a hard bargain, you miser.”

“Do we have a deal, old man?”

“I suppose we do... _young man_.”

“Nope,” Jason said, wrinkling his nose. “That’s just not gonna...nope. No _mister young man_. Don’t _baby_ me.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, knowing Jason wouldn’t see it, since he was two feet shorter. “Six nuggets. And if you squeal, I’ll know about it, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said. “Can I get honey mustard sauce, Dad?”

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. “Sure thing, Jay.”

***

The Metro ride was frustratingly slow, and Bruce was concerned that they’d miss their lunch reservations, even though they were only going a few stops on the Red Line. The train stopped every few minutes in the tunnel, each time with a mumbled apology ringing through the speakers, and with a garbled explanation for the halt.

“I bet we could _walk_ there faster than this,” Jason announced after the third stop, somewhere between Judiciary Square and Chinatown. He furtively licked his fingers, looking for the last trace of grease or mustard. Bruce thought he really hadn’t been kidding about being hungry.

They probably _could_ actually walk there faster. Downtown D.C. was dense, foot-wise. But it was July, and Bruce was dressed in a three-piece suit. He didn’t doubt that he could handle the rigors of the walk—a two-piece suit wasn’t his preferred outfit for the brutal heat and humidity of the District in high summer, but it still didn't hold a candle to the sweaty furnace that the _other_ suit could be, even in gentler climes. And Jason would be comfortable enough in his chinos and his T-shirt. Still, though, Bruce was here for business. He needed to to come in _not_ sweating at the collar. 

It might be time to give up on the train, though, and go above ground and catch a cab. They couldn’t be that far from the restaurant, could they?

The train started again, and moved for an agonizingly slow thirty seconds, before it abruptly stopped once more. Bruce held a straight face during the absolute catharsis of Jason’s aggressively growled “oh _come_ on, you _jerks!_ ” yelp beside him. 

Except that Jason didn’t say “jerks”.

They sat for a few more minutes, before something tickled Bruce’s nose. Jason, who’d thrown himself against Bruce’s side to sulk, sat up in alarm. “Bruce,” he said, looking up at him. “Isn’t that…?”

The speaker crackled to life. “We’ll be moving in a minute. Thanks for your _pzzzzzzzznce_ ”

“They keep saying that,” Jason said, fretfully. “But doesn’t that smell like smoke?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Bruce said, stifling a sneeze in reaction to something that definitely smelled like smoke, and looking out the window. It was too dark to see anything without going outside the car. He wished he knew the tunnels of this subway system; he hadn’t planned for this. “Let’s not panic anyone, son.”

Jason’s face scrunched, and he said “ _Fine_ ,” in a petulant tone that made Bruce want to pull him back against his side. Jason plastered himself against the glass of the window, avoiding Bruce’s eyes.

The seconds ticked on, and they piled into minutes. There were little breaths, little sighs, and then, a few coughs.

A few more coughs. Bruce could smell it clearly now, taste it in his mouth. He pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket, wet it down with a little bottle of water he’d stuffed in his pocket from the train ride down, and then turned to Jason.

Jason was already on his feet, in the aisle, tying his own makeshift smoke mask around his head. He rolled his eyes expressively, waving towards the entire train car, and not wasting breath. 

Bruce nodded firmly at him. “We’ll need more cloth,” Bruce said, hoping Jason could understand his muffled voice. 

Whether Jason heard him or not, the lad had already pulled up someone’s bag from underneath a seat, and was rifling through it. After some brief digging, Jason started pulling out shirts from the suitcase, and briskly ripped them into strips long and wide enough to serve as temporary smoke masks.

Bruce slid out of his seat, kneeling in the aisle of the train, dampening Jason’s makeshift cloth filters with water. He used his own water bottle, until it went dry, and then scavenged around for more. 

People’s eyes were fearful.

“Take these around,” he tried to say through the cloth. Jason nodded firmly, and moved down the train car, handing out dampened cloths and miming tying them around his face. He moved quickly, but purposefully. 

Bruce felt an unbearable surge of pride in him. _Look at him_ , he thought. _He’s_ right _for this. He’s going to be so good at this._

Bruce sidled out of his seat, and at the nearest train door, he cranked the emergency handle, and opened the doors.

There was a murmur through the train car at the sound, and the influx of air that wasn’t _fresh_ , exactly, but that at least wasn’t the stale, sitting air of the train car.

Bruce stood by the train car doors, his own mask knotted firmly around his face, breathing shallowly, and started gesturing people towards the door.

Jason glanced back, realizing what Bruce intended, and after just a couple of seconds, Bruce could see him tapping shoulders and pointing back at Bruce, before Jason moved on. It wasn’t a moment before he was out of Bruce’s sight.

The train tunnel was becoming thick with smoke, and for a long moment, Bruce wasn’t sure whether to continue to shepherd the civilians to safety, or to go back into the train car after Jason.

He stood just outside the door of the train car, breathing as lightly as he could, and standing as still, and directed civilians up the tunnel, reminding them not to touch the third rail. And he gritted his teeth, waiting, through the small eternity until Jason came back, half-carrying an elderly woman on his back. Jason signed at him that she was the last, and let Bruce take her from him, sighing with relief, and then coughing violently, and they both started along the tunnel, along the rest of the people from the train, trying not to breathe in the smoke.

 _A fine family trip_ , Bruce thought, darkly.

And then it was over, and they were all above ground, dispersing around the Metro tunnel entrance. Bruce could see Jason blinking with relief, and also starting to circle the small, unhappy crowd, counting.

“I’ve got them all,” Bruce told Jason, softly, and truthfully, because he’d been keeping his own mental tally. “Everyone from the car is accounted for. We... _we_ have them all.”

Jason wobbled, and looked over at Bruce, searching his face, and then finally accepted it, and collapsed against Bruce in relief, shoving his forehead hard against Bruce’s shoulder.

“No museums, after all,” he mumbled.

“I don’t think so, chum,” Bruce half-sighed, half-coughed.

Jason gave a great wheezing sigh, which was immensely comforting, as his lungs sounded mostly clear. “Not even a fancy lunch, I bet.”

“Alfred will make something better, when we get home,” Bruce proffered.

Jason rolled his head back, to stare at the still-smoky sky. “They had a T-Rex skeleton at the Natural History Museum,” he said, morosely. “I bet I _never_ get to see it now.”

“We have a T-Rex robot at home,” Bruce said.

Jason rolled his eyes at him.

***

They still took the WayneTrain back to Gotham, but Bruce bought Jason a twenty-count order of chicken nuggets for the ride home, and only ate seven of them.

***

Epilogue

Alfred shook the wrinkles out of the uniform, and Jason examined it, eyes a-glow. 

“...gee,” he managed, looking up Alfred. “Is it—really—is this one _mine?_ ”

“Why don’t you try it on, young sir?” Alfred suggested, fondly. “It is meant to be yours, now, after all.”

Jason did, shucking off his favorite ratty band t-shirt, and almost tripping out of his jeans in his rush to skin on the bright red tunic and the yellow cape and the green boots. He couldn’t help but admire himself in the mirror—the colors were so bold, _just like Robin Hood!_ , that Jason felt like a real hero, looking at himself in the mirror, dressed this way.

There was a soft footfall behind him, and Jason stiffened, and turned around, and there was Bruce, behind him, regarding him.

Jason swallowed, hard. “Oh, hi, Bruce! Alfred’s been working on this for me, and well, we—I mean he, thought, and me too, that I should see if it fit, just in case, you know, if I’m ever ready to, well, you know, go out into the field with you and actually be Robin. Someday.”

“I think we’re a little past someday, Jason,” Bruce said, resting his hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason cranked his head up in confusion. “You’re... _already_ Robin.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, son.” _Ever since D.C., I’ve been sure._

“Oh,” Jason breathed, and stood a little straighter, and tugged once again at his uniform, proudly.

**Author's Note:**

> A) Yes, the Red Line in D.C. is That Bad, sometimes, recently. Not lately! They've done a lot of track work that's helped. I haven't been on it in months though, because we live in Plague Times.
> 
> B) I actually wrote about 98% of this story close to two years ago. I've been wibbling over bits of it for ages, and then the pandemic hit, and for several months, I felt really uncomfortable about it because the use of masks here seemed trivializing. Plague Times! Now they seem normal and I don't blink at people using scarves as masks because at least they're TRYING.
> 
> C) MidTrax was originally Amtrak. I _literally forgot_ Amtrak was a publicly owned service utility. (This is because everyone would like you to forget that Amtrak is a publicly owned service utility.) In this universe, Bruce Wayne, who is still the one percent, which is part of the delightful fantasy of rich people who do good things, is in some kind of a public-private partnership for an Amtrak-style train service called MidTrax, commonly known as the WayneTrain. I have been casually overthinking this for months, and you can't stop me now.
> 
> D) Last fic in the DC fandom queue. :) Peace out, y'all.


End file.
